


più duro meglio più veloce più forte

by afterdark (damedanbo)



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Italian Mafia, M/M, Post-JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 5: Vento Aureo, Pre-JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 6: Stone Ocean, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 03:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19737739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damedanbo/pseuds/afterdark
Summary: What do you do when you have a week to blow in Italy and nothing on your agenda?Superbi Squalo, apparently.





	più duro meglio più veloce più forte

**Author's Note:**

> wow haha... long time no see? It's been a couple years since i posted smut on AO3, almost 2 and a half since I started writing this... finally sat down and hashed out the parts that I'd abandoned.
> 
> This is, uh... how do I explain this? Crack shipping that kinda works if you squint?
> 
> Or I guess I just wanted a reason to write something horny. :S

It all started because of the Mediterranean slipper lobster.

Scyllarides latus were most easily found in the Mediterranean Sea. The nocturnal, clawless "lobsters"-not true lobsters, of course- were a rare sight due to overfishing, and not much was known of their larvae and young. That was why Jotaro Kujo traveled to Italy that summer: to study the creatures and, hopefully, make a grand discovery about their juveniles.

Being Jotaro, he spent three months on the coast, observing the decapods in their natural habitat, spending most of his nights in scuba gear, underwater. He was able to witness a previously unstudied part of their life cycle, and recorded his findings in a notebook that his stand, Star Platinum, carried and sketched in for him.

At the end of the third month, he was to head home to Florida to turn in his findings and undoubtedly accept some kind of stupid award for it. He had only a week left in Italy, and had already gathered all the information he needed on Mediterranean slipper lobsters. He was sure his hands might never stop being pruny from all the time spent underwater that summer.

Finished with his work, Jotaro decided to travel to Naples to meet Giorno Giovanna. It was a bit of an awkward meeting; Giorno was not the little boy he had been expecting, but a mob boss instead, and he spent only a few hours of tense conversation with the young man before taking his leave.

He still had a week before it was time to return home. He needed to kill some time. Wandering Naples for a few hours, Jotaro came upon a little pub. That was where our story began.

He entered the bar, eyes adjusting to the artificial lighting inside. The place was about half full, of families with children drinking espresso and eating gelato, people eating paninis, and a table of men playing cards. A crappy little Jukebox in the corner was playing some Italian rendition of  _ What’s New Pussycat _ ; above it, a flatscreen tv broadcast a soccer game which most of the patrons seemed to be focused on.

Jotaro stood at the bar, leaning against the counter. He put in an order for coffee and turned around to wait, watching the patrons of the little pub. He was almost directly behind one of the players at the card table, and watched as the man slipped an extra ace out of his boot and into his hand.

_ What a cheap trick _ , Jotaro thought, sipping his coffee. Not that he would call the guy out. It wasn’t his problem to deal with.

Across the table from the cheater, a man with long, silver hair stood up suddenly, slamming his hands on the table so that the cards jumped and scattered. “VOOOOI! Baro! Si crede un gran figo?!”

Jotaro’s Italian wasn’t perfect, but he got the jist of that.  _ You! Cheater! You think you’re such hot shit? _ The other man, the one who had cheated, stood up suddenly, reaching into the back of his waistband for a gun.

“Come osi! Io non sono imbroglione!”  _ How dare you! I’m no cheat! _

“Il bugiardo! Coglione! Ti ucciderò!”  _ Liar! Fucker! I’ll kill you! _

Jotaro stepped forward, Star Platinum vibrating inside him at the prospect of a fight. “Ehi voi due,” he started,  _ hey, you- _

“Stay out of this, tourist!” The long haired man shouted, in English. He raised his left hand, revealing a sword, which appeared to be attached to the back of his wrist. “Tempo di morire, bastardo!”

_ Time to die, bastard! _

Jotaro wasn’t entirely sure what happened next, but in the split second it took for his brain to process such an event, a shark had appeared out of thin air to attack the cheater. The man screamed as the shark chomped down on his arm, tearing it away at the shoulder. Blood sprayed onto the silver haired man across the table, bathing him in red. The bartender sighed and picked up a mop, stepping around the counter towards them.

“Esci! Esci!” She said, shooing them away from the ruined table. “Restituiscilo,” she commanded, and the shark spat out the battered arm, which the other man picked up and took off with. The other cards players left as well, shaking off blood as they went. The antagonist, with his shark, stayed where he was, glaring around at anyone who dared to look at him.

“Voi! Fuck do you want, tourist? What are you looking at?! Hauh?”

But Jotaro wasn’t looking at him. Rather, he was focused on the shark, which turned in midair to stare him down.

「スタンド使い，」 Jotaro murmured in his native tongue, Star Platinum hovering readily over his shoulder.  _ Stand user.  _ They had a tendency to attract each other. Whether this guy was an ally or an enemy would remain to be seen.

The blood-covered man stared back at him, notably not looking at Star Platinum at all. “Cazzo turistico,” he muttered finally, sitting back down to gather up the bloodstained, ruined cards into a pile.

The next time they met, it was on the beach. Jotaro recognized the other man right away, hurling rocks into the ocean. Jotaro, no doubt, was unrecognizable in his scuba gear, though the hat on his head should have been a dead giveaway. When the man with the long hair caught him staring, he hurled a rock his way- which Jotaro easily caught with Star Platinum, throwing it right back. It knocked the other man in the forehead and he toppled over, into the warm sand.

Weighing the pros and cons of doing so, Jotaro jogged over to check on him. The man sat back up, clutching his bleeding forehead, and glared blearily up at him. “Oh,” he said, “you’re that tourist.”

“Kujo Jotaro,” Jotaro said, holding a hand out to either help him up or shake his hand.

“Didn’t ask,” said the other man, standing on his own. “Superbi Squalo,” he said after a few minutes, a phrase which meant almost nothing to Jotaro, but he nodded nonetheless. “That’s my name,” the man said finally, pointedly.

Oh! A name! And what a name it was- pride shark. Jotaro liked it immensely. Especially the shark part. “I have some questions for you,” he said, Star Platinum handing him his pen and notebook from out of thin air. 

“Save your breath. I’m not telling you anything,” Squalo said, starting to walk off down the beach. Jotaro watched him go for just a minute, then started off after him.

“Your stand is a shark, correct?” he asked, already jotting that information down. Star Platinum drifted after both of them.

“Hauh? My what?” Squalo glanced back at him, sneering when he realized that Jotaro was following him. He stopped again, digging his shoes into the sand. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

“That thing you summoned in the bar. The shark. That’s your stand, isn’t it.” Star Platinum hovered over Jotaro’s shoulder, taking back the pen to sketch the shark along the side of the page. “This one,” Jotaro said, holding out the notebook to Squalo.

Squalo glanced at the sketch and snorted. “Alo? My box animal? What about it?”

So it wasn’t a stand? Jotaro glanced at Star Platinum, who shrugged at him. “Can you see this?” he asked, pointing to his own stand. Squalo stared at the space beside him, then back at Jotaro.

“Are you crazy or something? I don’t see anything.”

Well, it wasn’t totally unheard of for other, non-stand-related abilities to crop up. Look at Mikitaka back in Morioh, or the old man with his hamon abilities. “I see,” Jotaro mused, looking down at his notebook. So he wasn’t a stand user at all. That meant his investigation ended here. “Thank you for your time.”

“Wait,” Squalo said, grabbing onto his arm tightly and squeezing his bicep through his scuba suit. “ _ Is _ there something there?”

Jotaro looked at him, long and hard, and nodded. “There is.”

“Show me.”

“It’s not something regular people can see.”

“I’m not a regular person.”

_ Fair enough,  _ Jotaro thought. The guy did have a floating deadly pet shark. “Alright,” he said.

That was how they ended up back at Jotaro’s hotel room, box animal and stand out, circling each other slowly. Somehow, it seemed that Alo- the shark, apparently- could see Star Platinum, despite its master’s inability to do the same. Animals often seemed to have that kind of intuition. 

“So what is it?” Squalo asked for the third time, sitting on the end of Jotaro’s bed. “Some kind of animal?”

“More like a person,” Jotaro said. 

“I don’t get it,” Squalo grumbled softly.

Star Platinum stopped moving, and Alo did the same. The stand reached for the box animal, gently caressing its skin, covered in tiny scales. Jotaro jerked back, hand bleeding from the contact. Squalo balked. 

“What happened?”

“Any damage to the stand is transferred to the user.”

“Did you touch my shark?”

“It’s… sharp,” Jotaro said, ignoring him slightly. Star Platinum reached for the animal again, curious.

“I want to see yours,” Squalo complained, noisily. He was noisy in everything he did. “Let me see it.”

“I can’t make Star Platinum visible to you. You’d have to be a stand user to see it.”

“So make me a stand user.”

“I don’t have an arrow- and that’s extremely dangerous.”

Squalo scowled even deeper, standing and calling back Alo. The shark disappeared into a little black box, like water flowing into a container in reverse. “I’m leaving, then.”

He made it to the door before Jotaro stopped him. “Wait. I’ll show you.”

Squalo glanced over his shoulder, stopped, and turned around, arms crossed. “Alright. Show me, then.”

“Come here.”

Squalo rolled his eyes and approached, stopping in front of Jotaro. “Show me,” he repeated. Jotaro glanced at Star Platinum, silently conveying his wishes.

An invisible hand lighted on Squalo’s face, big and gentle. He jumped slightly, stumbling back. Star Platinum followed him, pressing his hand back to his face.

“What the fuck is that,” Squalo demanded, reaching up to touch the hand, and finding his fingers went right through it. “What is this feeling?”

“Star Platinum is touching you.”

“It’s… invisible?”

Jotaro sighed. Good grief, was this hard to explain. “Yeah,” he lied, watching his stand poke and prod curiously at Squalo’s face.

“This is fucking weird…”

“You wanna stop?”

“No!”

They stood there for a while, unmoving aside from Star Platinum, who ran his hands over Squalo’s face and hair and chest without worry. Jotaro watched in silence. Finally, he called his stand back, and Star Platinum faded into the back of his mind, still alert and watching. Squalo shivered at the loss of contact.

“That was… bizarre,” Squalo said, patting his hair down. “Are there others?”

“Other stand users? Yes.”

“How many?”

“Hundreds, probably.”

Squalo sat back down, looking somewhat shaken. “And I can’t even see them,” he murmured, humbled. “They’re like ghosts.” Jotaro didn’t bother to correct him.

“Are you alright?”

“What the fuck do you care?”

“You’re in my hotel room. That makes you my responsibility.”

“Quit acting like you like me.” Squalo dragged a hand down his face, then shoved it back up into his hair. “I need a drink.”

“Let’s go, then.”

They were gone for about two hours. Between them, they downed four bottles of red wine (at the same pub in which they’d met) before staggering, drunk, back to the hotel. It took Jotaro several tries to get the key in the lock, and then they stumbled inside, grinning and laughing at each other, no doubt waking up other patrons asleep in their rooms.

“You tore his arm off,” Jotaro chortled, collapsing on his bed.

“He deserved it! Cheaters get what’s comin’ to ‘em,” Squalo said loudly, dropping facedown on the comforter beside him. They both giggled, red-faced and sleepy, eyes closed.

Finally, Squalo sat back up and looked over Jotaro. “Hey,” he said.

“What.”

“I’m in the mafia.”

“Really? Passione?”

“No, Vongola. I’m an assassin.”

“I know some mafia,” Jotaro murmured, staring sleepily up at the ceiling. Squalo nodded.

“And you’re a marine biologist, right?”

“Yeah,” Jotaro said. “Sorta.”

“Explain “sorta.””

“There’s this foundation I’m a part of… The Speedwagon Foundation.” Squalo’s eyes widened considerably. “Do you know them?”

“They have their fingers in the Vongola, and other famiglias.” Passione included.

“Not surprising. SPW has deals with a lot of organizations,” Jotaro said.

“So, technically, you and I are in almost the same field,” Squalo said, grinning crookedly.

“You could call us colleagues.”

They stared at each other for a while, grinning. Neither of them remembered making the first move, but Jotaro ended up on top, kissing Squalo sloppily, drunkenly, nipping at his lips. Squalo nipped right back.

“What are we doing,” Jotaro panted when they parted. Squalo opened his eyes, having closed them during the kiss.

“Fucking, I hope.”

Jotaro grunted in agreement and leaned back in. Their kisses were fast and sharp. Squalo was a biter. He was also, Jotaro quickly learned, a scratcher, a yeller, and a big fan of dirty talk. Not that he could understand most of it, being that Squalo kept sliping into Italian to snarl demands at him--but it was hot nonetheless.

Squalo knocked his white hat aside and shoved his hand into Jotaro’s hair, pulling him down into another kiss as Jotaro thrust his shirt up and tugged his pants down. They moved fast, wasting no time in stripping each other down. Squalo marked his shoulders, chest, throat, and Jotaro was all too happy to return the favor, biting down and leaving dark purple teeth marks that made the Italian yell and swear.

“ _ Sbrigati! _ ” Squalo demanded, spreading his legs for the bigger man. Jotaro smirked, holding out two fingers. Squalo bit down on his hand, then licked and sucked on his digits, coating them sloppily with saliva. Jotaro watched, eyes narrowed, as the silver haired Italian twisted his tongue around his fingers, nipping at the tips and leaving a trail of spit connecting his mouth to Jotaro’s hand.

Jotaro pushed a finger into Squalo’s ass, feeling him tense and relax, and leaned forward to kiss him and stroke his cock. Squalo shoved his hand away--which was fine, it just meant one less thing for Jotaro to focus on. He grabbed onto Squalo’s shoulder with his free hand instead, shoving him back into the plush hotel room pillows and kissing him firmly, growling when the Italian bit his lip and drew blood.

“No biting,” he said, stuffing a second finger inside. Squalo hissed.

“Make me stop, then.”

Jotaro squinted, and scissored his fingers open, stretching him. Squalo shuddered, tipping his head back and let out a fierce, garbled growl of curses.

“ _ Sbrigati _ , fuck me, stupid tourist.”

Without warning, Jotaro yanked his fingers out--and in the blink of an eye, as if time had stopped for everyone else, Squalo was on his stomach, butt in the air. “Voi--” he started, cut off when Jotaro grabbed his asscheeks, spread him open, and leaned down to lick from behind his balls to his tailbone.

“Fuck, fuck!” Squalo yelled, slamming a fist into the headboard. The people in the room next door would just have to deal. Jotaro smirked, fucking him with his tongue to finish prepping him, then pulled back, bit Squalo’s left cheek hard enough to bruise, and straightened up.

“Don’t think you can just--”

SMACK. Squalo’s other cheek jiggled from the force of the slap, and he squeaked softly. Jotaro grinned smugly, positioned himself at the Italian’s wet, spread entrance, and began to push in.

“ _ Cazzo, cazzo cazzo,”  _ Squalo sang, face buried in the bedding. He wrapped his arms around the supplied pillow, tearing at it with his nails.

Jotaro bottomed out inside of him, breathing a little harder than usual. Squalo glanced back at him, face red and eyes narrowed to slits, and Jotaro sneered back, slapping his ass again.

“VOI! Are you going to move or not?”

“Beg for it.”

“You really are one son of a bi-ITCH--”

Jotaro pulled back and slammed in again, and Squalo choked, biting his tongue. He gasped, panting and tearing the pillow practically in half, thrusting his hips back. In a matter of minutes, he had dissolved into a complete mess, panting, drooling, and mumbling incoherently to himself.

At the back of Jotaro’s mind, there nagged a sense that he was forgetting something--and he sighed, summoning Star. He sat back, pulling Squalo upright in his lap. The Italian slumped against his chest, breathing hard, cock twitching and leaking.

“What’re you…”

“Don’t you think we should put that noisy mouth of yours to work?”

“Don’t pull out.”

“I don’t need to.”

Something like understanding flickered in Squalo’s eyes. Star Platinum knelt before him, pulled its loincloth aside, and cupped his cheek gently, guiding his mouth towards its cock. Jotaro exhaled hard, holding in a hissing noise of pleasure. Squalo licked blindly around the stand’s erection, unable to see it but capable of feeling the head as he took it into his mouth.

“You’re practically made for sucking cock, huh?” Jotaro asked, rolling his hips. Squalo answered with a groan around his stand’s prick, closing his eyes and reaching a hand towards his own neglected dick. Jotaro grabbed his wrist, pulling it away after a few strokes, and Squalo whined.

“You wanted me to fuck you, right?”

“Mmfmm.”

“Then relax, and let me fuck you.”

He snapped his hips forward, and simultaneously, Star Platinum pushed its cock deep into Squalo’s mouth. The Italian shuddered and twitched, clenching on Jotaro’s shaft, fingers curling uselessly in the taller man’s grip. His other hand found Star’s thigh blind and he dug his nails in until blood beaded up on Jotaro’s leg.

Jotaro could feel his orgasm building quickly; the double stimulation was a bit much to bear. He could also sense Squalo falling apart beneath him, tearing apart one strand at a time, and he jerked his head at Star, who disappeared back into the recesses of his mind, grabbed onto Squalo’s hips with both hands, and thrust into him hard and fast. Squalo gasped more than he yelled, falling forward onto his face, and Jotaro leaned over him, reaching between his legs to rub him to completion.

The sharp clench that resulted from Squalo’s orgasm was enough to send Jotaro over the edge, and he came inside the other man.

He pulled out and Squalo shuddered, collapsing into the torn mess of pillows face first. Jotaro laid on his back beside him, catching his breath. After a few minutes, Squalo lifted his head, glaring at him.

“Who said we’re done? Get up.  _ Scopami più forte, turista stupido! _ ”

It was a long, loud, hot night.

“Who’s that guy with Squalo,” Levi asked, spying on him openly from the window of the meeting room.

“Shishishi… I wonder if that’s his new boytoy?” Belphegor suggested, pressing his face to the glass to look. Mammon floated over his shoulder, gazing on in disapproval.

“My oh my, Squalo brought home a  _ beau?  _ Is he cute? Is he TALL?”

“He’s not for you,” Mammon informed Lussuria, who pouted and dropped into a chair.

“He sure is walking funny,” young Fran--lent to them for the summer by a desperate Kokuyo gang--said.

Lussuria hopped to his feet, and the lot of them crowded around the window, staring down at the pair and examining Squalo’s saunter closely.

“He is!” Lussuria squealed. 

“Gross,” Bel sneered, turning away to make puking motions.

“I don’t get it,” Fran said flatly.

“Where the fuck is my breakfast,” Xanxus demanded from his position at the head of the table.

On Sunday, Jotaro flew back to the states.

Squalo didn’t see him off. In fact, he had made a point two days before to inform Jotaro that he was going on a mission and they wouldn’t see each other again.

There was a bit of a melancholy feeling to it, saying goodbye to Italy. There wasn’t much left for Jotaro to do there--he had done his research, he had survived a full (half) conversation with Dio’s son, and he’d had some great sex. There was nothing more he could ask for.

Still, what a shame, to never see that particular ass again.

He slept through the flight, only mildly bothered by the crying of kids and babies on the plane--if anything, it reminded him that he had a kid to go home to, and to pick her up something at the airport, as he’d forgotten a souvenir in Italy--and awoke as the plane was unloading onto the tarmac. 

It was at the bag return that he saw them: a young teen in a striped shirt with blond hair that fell over his eyes, covering them like a mask, and a man in a black Adidas tracksuit, silver hair that fell down his back…

“Squalo!”

The mafioso froze and turned slowly, looking towards him with wide eyes. 

“Turista stupido?!”

Behind him, the blond kid was making gagging noises, hunched over like he might be sick.

“I’m not here for you!” Squalo yelled across the ten or so feet between them. “Our mission is in Miami--don’t look at me!”

Jotaro tipped his hat down over his eyes, which he let slide down over Squalo’s backside.

So, he  _ had  _ seen that ass again.


End file.
